


Divide and Conquer

by Thighz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, Hinted Reaper76, old soldiers, post-Zurich, unlikely allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/Thighz
Summary: Jack didn't acquire his gear all own his own.He had a little bit of help from afriend





	Divide and Conquer

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a part of Hero: A Soldier 76 zine, but complications arose so we are posting our pieces.
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy_

 

**Divide and Conquer**

 

 

 

 

 

They called him hero.

They put his face on a statue and told his story in museums and asked him to continue saving the world.

As a  _ hero _ .

Except when his hands were tied behind his back and his best friend had to do the dirty work to save the world, they stopped using that word.

They called him traitor. A liar. A criminal.

They smeared the organization Gabriel and Ana and himself built. Tore it limb from limb on the outside as Talon ripped them apart from the inside.

Jack thinks he’s too old to continue on at first. He’s dirty and injured from the explosion, Gabriel is gone, Ana is dead. There’s no one left for him to turn to as he claws his way out of the rubble and escapes into the night.

He hides like an injured dog, nursing his wounds in silence and putting together a half-assed plan. There’s not much he can do besides slink around in the dark and take out the small fry with his bare hands.

The original idea was to steal just the pulse rifle. He needs some kind of weapon to take down the corrupt a-holes who ruined his family. He needs information. He needs a stable place to lay low until he has enough substantial gear to slide down the ladder of dirty politicians who sit in Talon’s back pocket.

He gets it in the form of a hacked phone laying on his half-unrolled sleeping bag.

The phone is unassuming and black. He weighs it in the palm of his hand, flips it over and presses the button to bring the screen up.

A white skull blinks once and disappears.

There’s a single text message.

 

_ I can help you get what you need. _

_ S. _

 

Jack’s first instinct is to crush the phone with his bare hand. No one should even know where he is or _who_ he is. Because Jack Morrison is buried six feet underground in the Arlington National Cemetery.

 

_ Who are you and how do you know who I am? _

_ 76 _

 

His heart races as he waits for the reply. He’s been so careful to watch his back, make sure he wasn’t leaving a trail.

 

_ A friend. Do you want my help or not? _

 

Jack grinds his teeth, types out his reply and hits send.

He only hopes he’s not making a mistake.

  
  


 

-

  
  


 

 

The mysterious person called ‘S’ sends Jack to a Watch point in northern Japan first.

Jack breaks into the base with ease. Though, he suspects it’s a little  _ too _ easy up until he passes an old set of computers and sees a familiar white skull in the center. Whoever they are, they have the ability to hack any electronics, anywhere.

And that’s something he can use.

Lights inside the Watchpoint flare to life ahead of him, leading him down different hallways and through multiple levels of the building.

The door he stops at has a lock on it. It clicks and whirls to life as he steps forward. Jack pushes it open slowly, peering around the frame.

It’s a room full of old prototypes. MEKA pieces, Omnic parts, half-assembled weapons. It’s a scavenger’s paradise all locked behind a coded door.

One his ‘friend’ has the ability to infiltrate.

Jack spends a good thirty minutes tossing things every which way until he comes upon an unpainted mask. He picks it up and turns it over between his hands. It’ll need new wires, solar batteries, and some kind of connection for an update.

“ _ I can help you with that too. _ ” A distorted voice comes to life above his head.

Jack glances up. “It assists with aim. I’m familiar.” He pulls at a frayed wire. “I also know how to fix it.”

“ _ Great. Saves me the trouble.” _

S leads him out of the abandoned Watchpoint with a new set of lights and he makes his way back to his hideout in a matter of days.

Jack takes his time repairing the mask. He ignores the buzz of the cell phone at his elbow and continues to solder and rewire the entire interface.

When it’s done, he runs his fingers over the fresh paint and the red lens. The phone buzzes to life once again, but this time he actually answers it.

_ Now for a gun. _

Jack frowns at the screen, then glances around his dusty little hideout to see if there could possibly be any cameras around to watch him. The broken building is a hotspot for drug addicts and squatters, but he doubts that would stop someone with so much information at their disposal from installing something Jack couldn’t see.

It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, trusting someone he can’t see.

He’s trusted people face to face and still ended up with the barrel of a gun at the back of his head.

_ I already know what gun I’m getting, h _ e types back.

_ And it’s swarming with Helix security. I can get you in and out without killing anyone. _

Jack gives pause, runs a thumb over the bottom of the mask once more.

_ Alright. What’s the plan? _

  
  


 

-

  
  


 

 

The plan, as most of Jack’s plans are, is ‘Don’t Get Killed’.

But S has a different approach. Direct, yet sneaky.

Jack can appreciate that. Gabe was like that. Gabe was - a lot of things Jack appreciated and yet didn’t fully understand until it was too late.

S makes him sew the jacket he’d drawn up before he’s allowed to head for the Watchpoint in Grand Mesa.

He spends hours upon hours sewing it, stabbing his fingers and nearly throwing the sewing machine through a window.

The only thing saving him is the hours Gabriel spent guiding his hands as Jack helped him put together their costumes for the annual Halloween party.

If Jack’s being honest, those are the only good memories left. He clings to them as the jacket comes together piece by piece, rubbing over his aching heart when it gets to be too much.

There’s no room for sentiment right now, even though it’s all he can feel. All he can think about.

He  _ needs _ to do this.

And before he knows it, he’s standing at the rear entrance in his full gear, pistol at the ready and an earpiece in his ear.

_ “There are eleven Helix guards total,” _ S crackles over the comm.

“Divide by section,” Jack orders.

_ “Two immediately as you go in. Three in a room on the left, six doors down. Another two guarding the weapons wing.”  _ There’s a slight pause, “ _ And four playing poker in an office.” _

Jack raises an eyebrow slightly at that and rechecks the chamber of his pistol, “Go dark.”

“ _ Good luck. Make them remember who you are.” _

Jack takes a slow, steady inhale of breath and lets it out easy. Then he busts through the front door, boot leaving a dent beneath the knob.

The first two guards yelp when they see him and the lights in the hallway flash out, leaving only the orange glow of his mask.

He takes them out with a punch and a bicep around a gasping throat.

Then he moves down the hall, steps light as he listens for the voices of the other guards. The three from the room come out first, frantic and waving their guns around.

Jack takes them out one by one and with brutal efficiency that reminds him of how he fought during the Crisis.

He reaches the weapons room and cold-clocks the guards with the butt end of his pistol.

S unlocks the doors and he slips inside.

The lights come to life and Jack searches, quickly, for the rifle he’d coveted during his active duty days.

It sits in a silver case, brand new and blue. He runs his gloved hands over the surface of her, not quite ready to pick her up and start where he began.

But a shout comes from deeper in the compound; the poker crew most likely.

Jack picks up the gun and turns to the door.

“Light it up.”

  
  


 

-

  
  


 

Jack leaves them all alive, only because S told him to.

_ You’re a vigilante, not a murderer. _

He’s not so sure.

Because he sure as hell isn’t a hero anymore.

“You ever going to tell me who you are?” he asks as he sits on his sleeping bag, jacket hanging over the back of a chair and mask resting on the surface of a desk.

_ “That would just spoil all the fun. _ ” The voice isn’t distorted this time. It’s heavily accented, Spanish, he thinks, and female.

Jack taps his knee. “Don’t make me hunt you down.”

A laugh. “ _ After all I did to help?” _

“Why  _ are _ you helping me?” Jack asks.

“ _ It’s good to have powerful friends, Jack. They get you places, they get you things you need.” _

“And I’m one of those friends?” He lowers his brow cautiously.

“ _ Yep. I’ll be in touch.” _

The room goes silent and Jack is left alone again.

He glances over at the jacket, the mask, the rifle.

And wonders what he’ll have to become to fix his mistakes.

 

 

 

  
  


_ End _

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for your continued support, comments, and kudos!


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